


Delusional Fantasy

by Nicxan



Category: Rusty Lake | Cube Escape (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Not Beta Read, You know. The old woman from the mill. That old woman.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 06:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: Mr. Crow knows how things are supposed to be.How his 'wife' survives by believing in 'soulmates', he has no idea. In fact, he finds it rather sad.





	Delusional Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's Month, day 16! Today's prompt is 'soulmates'  
It took like 4 tries to find something I was remotely happy with. So. Goody.

Mr. Crow believed in many things. He believed in destiny. He believed in the power of Rusty Lake, and the memories that fed it. He believed in Mr. Owl, for he knew how to make the Lake’s whispers realities.  
  
He did not, however, believe in the concept of something as ridiculous as a soulmate. Not for himself, at any rate.   
  
His ‘wife’ believed the opposite. She seemed very lonely from the beginning, and she had latched onto his pathetic human form rather quickly. The woman would babble on and on about how they were ‘meant for each other’, and how she was ‘destined to meet him’, and how they would be together as long as they lived.   
  
Mr. Crow couldn’t deny the amount of pity that he felt for her. This was a frail old woman, abandoned and discarded by her family, seeking companionship. Perhaps she clung to the concept out of a desperate hope. Maybe she created this fantasy as a way to cope with her numerous losses (that she never kept quiet about).   
  
He said nothing about his own beliefs, instead opting to play the role of a dutiful husband while waiting for the one that would cut off the stitches that had been forced onto him. He would run her errands, he would feed her, and he would house her. It provided pathetic company in between Mr. Owl’s numerous orders.   
  
She never said anything about the cubes that showed up in the mill, nor said anything about his ‘strange’ tasks. He never explained. It was a very quiet relationship, when it wasn’t all about her.   
  
And perhaps that was for the best, Mr. Crow thought to himself. After all, he would outlast her. Even in his pathetically feeble state, he knew his proper form would be returned to him in the end. It was enough for him to hold on.   
  
In contrast, what helped _her_ hold on was nothing more than a mere fantasy.   
  
Poor woman.


End file.
